


Re:

by unsettled



Series: Secondhand [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (peter/tony by association), Biting, Bruises, Competition, Cuckolding, Fluffuary, M/M, Marks, Multi, POV Quentin Beck, Possessive Behavior, Quentin is always an asshole, Showing Off, So sue me, i'm really bad at fluff apparently, it's fluffy for this universe?, smugness, threesome by proxy?, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: Quentin gets it; if they can't see each other, at least they can look at Quentin and see where he's been touched.(Prompt: Marks)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Quentin Beck/Tony Stark
Series: Secondhand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152887
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: Fluffuary 2021





	Re:

For a while, it wasn’t about him. 

The marks they’d leave on Quentin were notes passed in class;  _ I touched him here, bit him there, bruised him nearly everywhere.  _ Places Peter would put his hands, spread to match up with the bruises Tony’d left on Quentin’s hips, and probably fantasize about touching Tony. Spots Tony would put his mouth, biting harder at the hickeys on Quentin’s neck and probably thinking about kissing Peter. 

It was like they thought they could sneak it past Quentin, get around his rules about interaction between the two of them. Quentin’s smarter than that. 

Somewhere along the line, it slips into something else. Still not about him, not really, but it’s closer to it, the way they’re competing. Acting like there’s something to win by being the one to mark Quentin first, or most, or deepest. They keep fucking going after the same places, marks layered two, three deep as they try and outdo each other, and it hurts. 

Tony practically growls when he finds the hickeys on the insides of Quentin’s thighs and has to pin him down to finish covering them up. Peter frowns when Quentin comes home with a ring of bruising around his throat, and by the time he’s done Quentin has to wear a turtleneck for a week.

Quentin refuses to go back to Tony until it’s nearly faded, and very nearly demands this little game of one upmanship over. It’s his body taking the damage. 

Even if it’s a little fun. 

He falls asleep at Tony’s the next time, even though he tries to avoid that, and when he wakes up Tony’s nearly petting him, fingers slowly dragging from spot to spot across his skin. 

“We’ve been doing a number on you, haven’t we,” Tony murmurs.

“Mmm,” Quentin says. “You’re like animals.” He rolls onto his side, and Tony’s hand slips over his chest, over the marks there. “You should be more careful with me.”

Ton doesn’t say anything to that, but he’s already done his damage tonight, dark bruises around Quentin’s wrists and a bite on the back of his neck that’s throbbing. The next time, though—

The next time, Tony looks at where Peter’s deepened those, blurred the imprint of Tony’s teeth with his own, and doesn’t add to it. Peter hesitates when Quentin comes home with the same marks he left with; doesn’t do anything about it either. 

Neither of them do, and as all the marks fade, Quentin wonders if the appeal of the rest of this game is fading too. 

As it turns out, all they wanted was a clean canvas. And this time, it’s about Quentin. The differences are subtle, might not even look that present from the outside, but— 

It’s the way they look at the other’s marks, the way they look at him. The way they mark him but they don’t hurt him quite the same. The way they preserve the marks already on him, merely expanding the range.

It’s the way Peter smiles when Tony leaves rope burn on Quentin’s forearms and rolls Quentin’s sleeves up the next time they go out. 

The way Tony catches Quentin’s chin and tilts his head to the side, showing off the reddish bruise Peter just left on his neck. Drags his thumb over it, barely pressing down, and sets his mouth just above it, leaves a mark of his own. 

When Quentin looks at them in the mirror later, it’s like a matched set. Peter’s sits just above the collar of his shirt, the lower edge still hidden, but Tony’s is fully exposed, obvious. 

Quentin touches them gently, one finger against each. Smiles, slowly, satisfied, because this is better. This is saying, clearly enough for anyone that looks: he’s ours. It’s not about marking him, but marking  _ him. _

It’s about him. 


End file.
